The sun, a persistent intruder, pierced through the heavy curtains, its golden tendrils finding Olivia's closed eyelids. A soft, distant chirping of birds drifted in through the open window, a melodic invitation to a beautiful Sunday. She stirred, the warmth of the expensive duvet a fleeting comfort against the cold dread that settled in her chest.

Her eyes, hazel pools of quiet sorrow, slowly opened, adjusting to the shimmering light. It was 9 AM. Beside her, half-naked and breathtaking, Markian lay in a peaceful slumber, his sculpted form a stark contrast to the turbulent chaos of her own mind. His breathing was soft, even, sending a cool whisper across her face. Three months. Three months of this continuous torture, this nightmare she called her marriage. The memory of last night, fragmented and disorienting, crashed over her like a tidal wave. She gasped, sitting bolt upright, hands trembling as they clutched at her chest. What had she done? What had she begged her sister's husband to do?